


The Castaways

by cherie_morte



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pirates, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="u">AU:</span> Jared is a passenger on a ship to America when a storm forces them to take refuge on the first spit of dry land they find. There, Jared finds Jensen, a man who has been stranded alone on the island for years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Castaways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollarformyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollarformyname/gifts).



> Written as an (incredibly late, I'M SO SORRY) **[spn_j2_xmas](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/)** gift for my wonderful darling **[dollarformyname](http://dollarformyname.livejournal.com/)**. Full disclosure to all readers: I'm not now, nor have I ever been, a pirate (shocking, I know), so my knowledge about pirate ships and life at sea is pretty limited. I did do my research where possible, but I was largely relying on the fact that the POV character also knows nothing about sailing. That said, there are likely practical and historical errors all over this story, but also it's porn, so get over it. So many thank yous to **[dugindeep](http://dugindeep.livejournal.com/)** and **[wolfize](http://wolfize.livejournal.com/)** who both did champion beta jobs at very literally the eleventh hour…and on New Year's, no less. They made this story waaaay better than it was. Basically everything that isn't terrible? That's all them. But by all means, give me the credit anyway. :D I also owe **[deirdre_c](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/)** many thanks for helping me try to determine what would make the best gift. Finally, a thank you to the wonderful xmas mod herself, **[tebtosca](http://tebtosca.livejournal.com/)** , for believing in me when honestly it would have been way smarter not to.

Jared hates the sea. He's always hated the fucking thing.

It gives him the creeps, and he doesn't see the romance in it that so many poets have written about. To Jared, any description of the ocean as a metaphor for freedom or positive change sounds cracked, like whoever's writing it has never actually gazed out onto the vast nothingness of the Atlantic. It's deep and dark and full of monsters too terrible to fathom, the water cold and biting, salt that cuts your cheeks and stings your eyes. 

When he was in England, it meant weeks of misery aboard some cramped, swaying box made out of wood keeping him from the comfort of home. He never meant to cross the damned thing again when he left for England, wouldn’t have gotten on this ship back to the States if not for necessity.

So it honestly seems fitting, with Jared's recent run of bad luck, that he's going to die as so many idiots before him have, swallowed up by the angry tide and picked apart by the scaly scavengers he's sure are lurking just a few feet below, waiting. This is what humanity gets, really, for tempting fate. Humans belong on dry, solid land, and any attempt to test that is asking for trouble.

"I can't believe I'm going to die like this," he says again. "I just wanted to see Texas one last time."

He hears an annoyed sigh from his left elbow and looks down to see the captain glaring at him. He's not sure how she manages to hold that expression with rain pounding down like it is, but she manages. "You're the most annoying, overdramatic person I have ever met in my life."

"That might be the last thing you ever say to me," he points out. "To anyone."

"Oh my god," Genevieve replies, looking up at the sky accusingly, as if the storm was bad on its own, but having to put up with Jared is one indignity too many. "We are _not_ going to die, Jared. This ship has stayed afloat through worse storms than this, I assure you."

"Doesn't that just mean it's more likely to sink this time? Wear and tear, you know?"

"We usually fix the holes before we sail again," she replies, still looking thoroughly unimpressed with Jared's seamanship. "Hopefully we'll find somewhere to dock until the worst passes—"

"Sure, we'll just happen to stumble upon some unrecorded island no one has ever seen before on the passage between England and America. _That seems likely._ "

"Oh, hell, we've been blown so far off course we may be near Greenland for all I know! There might be land right on the other side of the next wave, we’re pretty much sailing blind at this point."

Jared feels his eyes widening, his jaw dropping in terror, but Genevieve's lips just curl up.

"You're joking," he guesses, letting his shoulders drop in relief. "You're just trying to scare me."

"Nah." She pats Jared on the shoulder. "We're definitely lost. But hell, we're pirates! We're good at improvising."

Genevieve gives Jared one last friendly clap on the back before turning to go, and Jared swallows hard, dropping his head onto the ledge. Even better, being reminded he's surrounded by cutthroats who won't hesitate to let him drown to save themselves.

Maybe he should just go back below deck. He'd come up hoping fresh air would improve his seasickness, but between the rain whipping his face and the fact that he can better see how utterly doomed they are, Jared's mood and health aren't exactly improving.

"Worst storm I've ever seen," he hears one of the men nearby tell another. Everyone is yelling to be heard over the wind and the crashing of the waves on the side of the ship, so Jared can't help overhearing. "Much worse than the one that almost sunk us last November. Remember that one?"

"Remember?" his companion replies. "That was the storm that killed Stephen! He fell right overboard."

"Oh, sure, we lost three men that time," the first guy responds, and then he starts…laughing? "But the way that Stephen's legs kicked as he went."

They're both cracking up now, and Jared feels himself whimper, unable to keep in his fear. He's afloat in the middle of a giant death puddle, surrounded by madmen, and somehow he actually expected to make it to Boston Harbor in one piece.

Fortunately for him, the sound is too weak to be heard over the roar of the storm, and the two rouges continue their reminiscing.

"Nice fella, that Stephen was," one of the men, Jared thinks his name is Ty, but the truth is he's stayed as far from the crew as he's been able to since they left England, and the only names he knows for sure are Genevieve's and her first mate, Jeff Morgan. This one's a big, burly sonofabitch, and he immediately stops laughing when he catches Jared watching them. "The hell are you staring at? You wanna go for a swim?"

Jared shakes his head and steps away, determined to go back to his cabin and die there in peace, but then he hears someone shout out, "Land ho!" and everyone on board lets out a cry of triumph.

The Captain and First Mate arrive almost immediately.

"We're near the center of the storm judging by those clouds," Jeff tells the captain. "That'll give us a chance to drop anchor and secure the ship, if we're not blown too far out of the way before it hits again."

"Yeah, but if we miss the window, we'll crash on the shore." It's the guy Jared had seen laughing with Ty earlier interrupting, and Jeff narrows his eyes.

"Travis, are you trying to imply I don't know what I'm doing? Because I was outrunning storms when you were still—"

"Yes, yes, you’re all very butch," Genevieve says, interrupting the argument. She calls up to the man on lookout in the crow's nest. "How much can you see, Aldis?"

"Not much, Captain," he shouts down. "Tall cliffs and a coastline."

Genevieve nods, looking to Jeff. "Cliffs mean coverage. We can dock near them and they'll protect the ship from the wind."

" _If_ we make it in time," Travis interjects. "Otherwise we'll be smashed to pieces on the cliffs. Those of us who do survive will be stranded. Probably on some sandbar in the middle of nowhere!"

"If we try to stay on the water and this storm gets any worse, we'll all be dead!" Jeff yells back.

"Yeah, stranded beats dead," Genevieve says. "We're going to the island."

_______________________________________________________________

Within the hour, the storm calms to nothing, just as Jeff had predicted. The sky is a terrifying bright orange like Jared has never seen in his life, but the crew are in good spirits as they work to make land. He figures they know when to be worried better than he does, so he lets some of the tension leave him and does his best to stay out of the way.

He's in his cabin when he feels the ship lurch. At first, the panic returns, but after half a minute or so, there's a knock on his door. He opens it to see Genevieve standing there, soaked to the bone and looking more exhilarated than he's ever seen her.

"We just dropped anchor," she tells him. "We found a good spot to leave the ship docked for the night, and I don't think we're in danger of her taking much damage. But it'll still be safer on land when the storm starts up again."

"You mean it?" Jared asks. "I can get off this death trap?"

Genevieve nods, and she doesn't have to tell Jared twice. He starts grabbing what he'll need for the night, throwing on his coat and grabbing blankets to try to stay warm through the storm, and he hears her let out a huff of amusement from the door.

"You may be worthless as a sailor, Doctor, but we expect every able-bodied person on this ship to pitch in. There will be supplies we need to unload for the night, so make sure you can still carry a parcel or two when you're done gathering _your pillows_."

Jared knows the captain is fond of him, that she's the reason the rest of the crew haven't robbed him or worse, and that her teasing is mostly well-intentioned. Still, he feels his cheeks color and drops all but one of the blankets he'd had in his arms.

She nods in approval and turns to leave, and Jared follows a few seconds behind, stopping to grab his lantern, which he'd kept unlit to avoid it shattering in the turbulence and starting a fire. He figures having a fire already going will be useful on land, even if the rain puts out anything they try to use for warmth.

With so many people working together, the ship is unloaded and locked down as much as possible well within the time they have before the storm strikes again. Jared is impressed, honestly, with how well the rowdy bunch of men and women he's been sailing with the last few weeks work together, and he chalks it up to the captain's leadership.

They vote to stay close to the coast in order to avoid anyone getting lost or injured by venturing too far. It'll be an uncomfortable night if they don't find immediate cover, but they'll be able to find the ship easily once it's safe to leave; everyone except for Jared seems to be more annoyed than anything by having to stop on land for any period of time.

There's a line of palm trees and forest visible from the shore, so they agree to set up camp there. The trees will provide poor cover, but it’ll be better than nothing, and it's only one night. Jared, as used to feather pillows and soft mattresses as he is, dreads the thought of sleeping on a wet, muddy floor, while most of the crew settle quickly as they build their impromptu camp.

Jared tries to sleep sitting with his back propped on the trunk of a tree, yet he hardly dozes, awakening with rain hitting his face from a dream where he drowns even here on dry land.

Sleep, he decides, is not likely to come until they leave this nightmare behind and get back to sailing on calm waters with some real sense that he'll be home soon. He stands and glances around at his companions, most of whom are out, snoring like they’ve never had a better rest in their lives.

He has to dance a bit, carefully watch his steps to avoid putting his foot in someone's face or waking one of these criminals who are more likely to cut him open than wait for an apology.

When he finally reaches the edge of the campsite, he hesitates before grabbing the lantern he'd brought to shore, lighting it from the larger fire the lookout is maintaining.

"Where are you going?" hisses a small, red-headed girl—Jared thinks her name is Felicia, maybe.

"Just for a walk," he replies. "I'll be back."

"If you're not by sunrise, we're leaving you."

Jared smiles. "Oh, I believe you."

He doesn't walk far, not enough to lose sight of the fire at the center of their camp. The rain is still going steady, but the trees above are catching most of it, and his blanket is warm and toasty. He finds a large rock and takes a seat on it, holding his lantern up to observe the island around him. It's exactly what he'd expect from a deserted island in the middle of the ocean. He's about to laugh at how cliché this whole mess is when he sees a bush nearby shift and hears a sound that unsettles him.

If he were a wiser man, Jared would ignore it. Better yet, he would head immediately back to the protection of the group he came with. Many things in Jared's life would be different if he were a wiser man.

Instead, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he hops down from the rock, landing on his feet. He shuffles closer to the bush, moving slowly so as not to spook whatever's behind it.

"Hello," he says, laughing at himself as soon as he realizes what he's done. It's probably a monkey or a rodent, and he's speaking the Queen's English to it.

There's a brief period of silence and then, "Hello."

Jared feels his eyebrows draw together and takes a step back in shock. Maybe—he'd heard of birds that could mimic human speech, but whatever this was, it had sounded…American.

A head suddenly appears above the bush, and even in the dark, Jared recognizes the very human pair of eyes staring at him.

The others had found no signs of any kind of civilization when they'd first come ashore and looked around, but this is definitely a person, and, judging by the wild state they're in, not one who arrived only a few hours ago. Jared doesn't know all the men and women of the crew he's been sailing with; still, he knows this is not one of them.

Probably, there's a good chance that this person will slaughter Jared for trespassing on their land, or take him back to the rest of his tribe to alert them of their visitors. If that's how it's going to go down, Jared figures he's got no hope of escaping, so he places his lantern on the floor carefully and reaches out with one hand, touching his chest with the other.

"Hello," he says again. "I'm Jared. I'm not going to hurt you."

The person hesitates for a long time, but finally they shuffle forward out of their hiding place. Jared is able to determine that it's a man, one of fairly strong build, almost his equal in height, but thin, thin, thin, as if he hasn't eaten in years.

"Do you speak English?" Jared asks. "I know some Spanish, but I'm afraid that's all—"

The man moves forward very quickly then, fast enough that Jared thinks he's attacking, so he brings the hand he'd had on his chest up to his eyes, attempting to shield his face from whatever the man might do.

Instead, he only feels two hands seize his own, their grip tight but not violent. The man does the last thing Jared's expecting—he takes Jared's hand and presses it against his cheek, which is covered by a thick beard.

"Jared," the man says. His voice is scratchy, as if he hasn't used it for a long time, but it sounds comfortable enough with the language when he replies, "I'm Jensen. English is fine."

"Good," Jared says, watching as the man rubs his face against Jared's hand. Jared doesn't try to take it back, though it is a little awkward. "That's a start."

He looks at the man more closely now that he's fairly certain there's no immediate danger. The stranger's clothes are ragged, filthy and torn, yet Jared recognizes the fabric for cotton, the style a fairly standard undershirt and what might have been a nice pair of breeches when they were first cut. Whoever this poor bastard is, this is not his natural habitat.

"Are you cold?" Jared asks, taking his hand back so that he can grab the blanket draped over his shoulders and pull it off, offering it to Jensen instead. "Your clothes are so thin. Wear this."

Jensen makes an injured sound when Jared breaks contact, but there's a look on his face like reverence when Jared wraps the warm blanket around him.

"How did you get here?" he asks. "You're from the States, aren't you?"

He watches as Jensen settles the blanket, and then the stranger takes his hand again, pressing it between his palms, staring down at where they're touching.

"States, yes," Jensen says. He licks his lips, then looks up at Jared, shaking his head. "Came on ship—like yours. Saw you arrive. Watching you. All of you." Jensen points toward where the campsite is. "Was a storm. My ship smashed. Everyone else dead. Everyone. Except for me. Don't know why me. Everyone else…"

The man looks away, but his hold on Jared only tightens.

"I'm so sorry," Jared tells him. "How long ago?"

"How long?" Jensen echoes. His face scrunches up like he's thinking too hard, and then he meets Jared's eyes. "When is it?"

"March, 1857," Jared answers.

"No," Jensen whispers. He lets go of Jared for the first time, grabbing his long hair and tugging at it. "No. No, no, no."

"Hey, calm down," Jared says, reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

Jensen immediately calms at the contact, but his face is pained. "Eight years," he says. "Eight years."

"You've been here for _eight years_?" Jared responds.

"Eight," Jensen says, like Jared is clearly not grasping the meaning. " _Eight_."

"That's a long time." Jared feels pretty stupid once it's out, but to his surprise, the obviousness of his observation seems to shake Jensen out of whatever state he's in, and he laughs softly.

"Yes," Jensen agrees. "Very long."

"I'm sorry," Jared tells him.

Jensen leans forward, grabbing Jared's shirt with both hands. "Take me with you."

"What? I—"

"Please," he begs. "Please. Don’t leave me here."

"I'll try, of course. But…it's not my ship. Not my call. And these people, they don't really like me."

"I can take them to shelter. Warm, dry cave. Clean water. Food. As long as it takes to wait out storm. I can help. Please."

"I'll do whatever I can," Jared promises, and Jensen surprises him by pulling him in, holding him close.

_______________________________________________________________

A gunshot goes off, striking the roof and causing small chunks of rock to rain down on them.

Everyone is huddled inside the cave Jensen has apparently been living in for the last eight years, gathered around a warm fire, safe from the rain and winds that are tearing through the island.

Despite Jensen's hospitality—and Jared's not sure why he's surprised by this—half the crew started laughing when he proposed that they agree to take Jensen with them, and most of the rest of them took their weapons out.

"Everyone shut up!" Genevieve screams when the shot from her pistol is done echoing through the cave.

No one dares to disobey her. The only sound Jared hears is a muffled cry from Jensen, who snuggles in closer to Jared's side. The blanket Jared had loaned him earlier is wrapped around both of them now, and Jared is supporting Jensen against his chest because, well, because he doesn't really seem to have much of a choice. Jensen hasn't stopped touching him for even a moment since they first made contact.

"We're going to listen to arguments for and against," she says, like she's talking to a gang of rowdy children. "No one is going to interrupt anyone else until they have had their say."

"Well, I say we blow the man away," Travis says, immediately jumping in. Jared knows his name by now, as well as his propensity to assume his opinion is wanted in every situation.

"Here, here," Ty agrees. "We don't need another mouth to feed."

"He just fed your big mouth," Jared mutters.

Ty turns to look at him with a snarl on his face. "I say we leave the landlubber behind, too, so he has some company. He's done nothing but get in the way since we took him on anyway."

"Oh, yeah, that's a great idea," Felicia says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That way, when someone cuts off one of your limbs for being a drunk asshole, there _won't be a doctor on board_ to deal with it."

"We're keeping the doctor," Jeff agrees, spreading his hand out. "That's not up for debate."

Ty crosses his arms over his chest and pouts, like an overgrown child, and Jared can't help laughing.

"We don't know that he's safe," says Aldis.

Jared looks up, a little betrayed, because, sure, he wouldn't have called anyone here a friend, but he and Aldis have been respectful, even cordial, ever since Jared sewed up the wound Aldis got on their last raid.

Aldis shrugs. "Sorry, man. But we don't know how he got here. His last crew might have left him because he's a foaming-at-the-mouth killer, for all we know. He might slit all our throats while we're sleeping."

"Seriously?" asks a small boy Jared hadn't paid much attention to yet. "So might Mike or Tom or you or me, or that guy—" He points to their most recent recruit. "I don't even know that guy's name. We're pirates, for crying out loud."

"That's right, Osric," Felicia responds. "And if we don't have loyalty, what do we have? We would all be out there catching our death if he hadn't led us here. He could have slit all our throats while we were sleeping."

"Besides, the kid's a mess. You really don't think you can take him?" Jeff hitches a thumb in Jensen's direction, and Jensen illustrates his point by burrowing even closer to Jared as everyone turns to look at him. "He weighs like eighty pounds soaking wet."

"So does the Captain, and she'll fuck you up," someone cries out from the back.

Genevieve smirks at that, and the debate carries on.

"But he's clearly got more than a few screws loose," Travis argues.

Genevieve sits up. "You saying I don't?" The crowd laughs, and the Captain tries to catch Jensen's eye. "I'd like to hear your argument."

"We can't just leave him here," Jared says. "He might never get another chance to—"

"I said I wanted to hear it from him," she interrupts, and her tone brooks no argument.

Jensen pulls out of Jared's embrace slowly, but he keeps Jared's hand clenched in his own as he sits up. "I. Please. I'm can—" He breaks off, his face scrunching up as he turns away, and he slaps one palm against his temple, like he's trying to shake something loose. "Haven't spoken in long time," he explains. "Can't explain well. But I knows ships. I'm good on a ship. I can help."

"We can always use extra hands," Jeff says.

Genevieve purses her lips. "We gave what's-his-name the last bed in the crew's quarters."

"There's an extra bed in my cabin," Jared reminds her. "He can stay with me."

Travis snorts. "I'll bet he can."

The Captain turns on him. "You want to be the one left behind?"

"No, Captain," he mumbles.

"Didn't think so." She returns her attention to Jared and Jensen, then nods. "Alright, we'll take you, but only as far as Boston. Then you're on your own."

Jensen smiles for the first time, and in the glow of the firelight, Jared sees the way his big eyes light up, how it wrinkles the skin next to his eyes. Even behind the unkempt beard, it's a beautiful smile.

_______________________________________________________________

Jensen is standing by the washbasin in Jared's cabin, looking shaken and unsure of himself as he towels his face dry.

The clothes Jared gave him to wear are baggy on his frail frame, but when Jared asks if they're okay, Jensen runs his hands over the clean fabric and then nods at Jared. His eyes look just a little bit wet.

"We can wash and mend your old clothes if you want something that fits you better," Jared offers.

Jensen shakes his head. "Burn them."

He's a man of few words, Jared has learned, but he makes his point.

"Is there anything else I can do to make you feel at—?"

Jensen steps forward and takes Jared's wrist. He brings Jared's hand up to his face, just like he had when they first met on the island, and closes his eyes as he leans into the touch, holding Jared's palm flat against his cheek.

"Thank you," he whispers after a long time. He opens his eyes, and now in the light streaming through Jared's cabin window, Jared has a chance to see how big they are, how green. They’re fixed on him like Jensen has something incredibly important that he needs Jared to understand, but again, all he says is, "Thank you."

"Of course," Jared replies, smiling as if Jensen's hyper-focus doesn't unsettle him. "Wasn't gonna leave you there if I could help it."

"Want," Jensen says. He takes Jared's other hand in his and brings that one up to touch his face as well. "Can't feel you."

"The beard?" Jared guesses, and Jensen nods. "I have a good razor. We have a man on board who cuts the crew's hair, he could help you out."

"No, not them," Jensen says. "Only you."

Jared's laugh is shaky. "You want me to cut your hair?"

Jensen nods.

"I've never cut anyone's hair in my life. I'll make you look terrible."

At that, Jensen lifts an eyebrow and glances at their reflections in the mirror as if to ask, "How much worse could I look?"

Jensen reaches for the pouch where Jared keeps his razor and lifts the flap. There's a small pair of scissors tucked off to the side. Jensen takes those out and hands them to Jared. While Jared begins to set up and lather the shaving soap, Jensen carefully undoes the buttons of the shirt Jared lent him and sets it aside.

"You're sure you don't want to do this yourself?" he asks as he turns, and maybe he shouldn't be as surprised as he is to find Jensen already standing at his side, less than an inch of space between them.

Jared's cabin is small, but Jensen gives 'close quarters' a whole new meaning.

"Uh uh," Jensen says, lifting his hands so Jared can see them. "Too shaky."

Jared's about to ask why Jensen's hands are shaking when Jensen reaches out, putting his hands on Jared's hips and drawing him closer. They're steady on him. They've been steady every time Jensen's touched him, which has been constant.

It's been too long since Jared was close to anyone, and the proximity to Jensen makes _his_ hands shake.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Jared tells him. "I could hurt you."

Jensen's smile is so small, it's almost hidden under the brush of his beard and the layer of shaving cream he's started to apply, but it's there. He shakes his head and says, "You won't hurt me."

"You're pretty willing to put your life in the hands of someone you just met, like, a day ago."

"Yes," Jensen agrees. "I trust you."

"Why?" Jared asks, unable to help himself.

Jensen shrugs. "You already saved my life."

Jared swallows hard at that, not sure he sees it the same way. All he did was bring Jensen to the Captain and try to advocate for him. Not like he's the one she listened to in the end.

He grabs the razor and begins to work through the thick hair on Jensen's face. Jensen washed himself as much as he could in the water from the wash basin, so his beard isn't as matted with mud and sand as it had been when they'd first gotten on board, but it's still much more of a challenge than anything Jared's ever had to shave off of himself, not to mention a different angle than he's used to.

He's nearly done with Jensen's left cheek when the ship lurches on a wave and Jared doesn't account for it, slides the blade wrong, nicking Jensen's jaw. A little spot of blood begins to bead on his skin, and Jared pulls back.

"Fuck!" he says. "Fuck, I told you I was going to—"

"It's okay," Jensen says, taking Jared's wrist and pulling him in again. "Just a little cut, Jared. It's okay."

Jared feels the confusion draw on his face. "You want me to keep going?"

"Yes, please," Jensen answers. He sounds content, sleepy even, and he closes his eyes. Jensen lets his head drop back so that Jared can work on his neck, completely surrendering himself even though Jared just demonstrated that he's not good at this.

Jared washes the razor clean and starts again, leaning toward Jensen to try to get as close and safe a shave as possible. At this angle, with Jensen's throat exposed, it's hard to ignore how long his eyelashes are, the way they rest on his cheeks, which are dotted with the same freckles that cover every inch of Jensen's sun-kissed skin, or at least what’s on display right now, which is most of him.

The longer Jared goes and the more of Jensen he uncovers, the more he realizes how much trouble he's in. Because the lushest mouth Jared has ever seen was hiding under that wild beard, and it's becoming all too evident that Jensen is _beautiful_.

Jared _just_ finished ruining his life with thoughts like that, and now what he took for a completely harmless man in need of help has been dropped in his lap, more tempting than anything he's ever seen before.

When he's done, he towels Jensen's face clean and can't help staring. He doesn't even know he's reaching out, letting the back of his fingers brush along Jensen's cheek, until Jensen opens his eyes and meets Jared's.

Jensen draws in a breath and smiles, leaning into the touch. "See," he says, his voice muted, as if he's telling Jared a secret he doesn’t even want God to hear. "Now I can feel you."

Jared can't think of anything to do but ruin the moment, so he coughs and turns away. "I can try to cut your hair, too, but I'm telling you, I won't know what I'm doing."

"I can do that." Jensen takes the scissors and turns to his reflection in the mirror, hardly gives Jared a moment to adjust before he starts hacking away at his hair, cutting the long strands much shorter than Jared's own.

He watches Jensen work for a long time, not sure why it's so fascinating, but the transformation when Jensen finally sets the shears aside is outrageous. Jensen straightens, though Jared can't help noticing he doesn't stand at his full height, that he leans all his weight onto his left leg.

Then he faces Jared and smiles, reaching for the shirt he'd taken off earlier and slipping it around his shoulders. Now, Jared can't think about his posture. He can't take his eyes off all that skin Jensen is covering up or the newly exposed masterpiece of his face.

Jensen is Apollo himself, and Jared is utterly fucked.

_______________________________________________________________

He awakes that night to the sound of whimpering from the bed only an arm's length away from his own.

Jared sits up, lights the lamp at his bedside, and sees Jensen lying on the very edge of his bed, so near to falling that one big wave might be enough to make him roll right off. Jensen is also shivering, even though he's wrapped in plenty of blankets, dressed in the warm, clean clothes Jared had given him.

"Are you okay?" Jared asks.

Jensen lifts his head, as if he hadn't noticed Jared was awake, and he nods. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"You sure?" Jared bites his bottom lip when he sees how drawn in Jensen's face is. He'd thought Jensen would be out like a flame as soon as they got in bed—after all, he hasn't slept on a mattress in eight freaking years. He'd looked so drowsy, so content when Jared had last seen him. "Have you slept at all?"

For a long time, Jensen is quiet, nothing but his trembling and the sound of the sea outside between them. Finally he shakes his head 'no,' and Jared sits up, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

Jensen looks at him and doesn't answer. When Jared looks him over, he notices the tremor in Jensen's hands and remembers the way he'd steadied as soon as he touched Jared earlier.

It's the stupidest idea he's ever had in his life, but the offer is out of his mouth before his brain even catches up to what he's saying, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Jensen only holds off for half a moment before he's flinging his covers aside, crossing the short space between them and crawling into Jared's cramped bed, practically gluing himself to Jared's side. He presses his face to Jared's chest, much like he had when they were speaking to the crew inside his cave, but now he also drapes one leg over Jared and slips his hand beneath the fabric of Jared's shirt, resting his palm near Jared's heart.

Jared can't find a way to make himself comfortable without completely giving in, wrapping his own arms around Jensen, drawing him in like a ragdoll. Jensen lets out a soft sigh once they're both settled.

He lies awake, staring at the wooden slabs of the ceiling above him, trying to make himself feel uncomfortable with Jensen's closeness. But, if he's honest with himself, it just feels _nice_.

"I'm not like this, you know," Jensen says. Half an hour must have passed since Jared thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Not like what?" Jared asks, trying to crane his neck so he can see Jensen's expression.

Jensen lifts his head to make it easier. "I used to hate having people in my space. Used to…if someone were doing this to me, I would have pushed them away hours ago. I don't understand why you're being so patient with me."

"I don't mind it," Jared admits.

"I'm not like this," Jensen insists again, but he snuggles in closer, pressing his cheek to the open V of Jared's shirt, so that his now-smooth cheek is on Jared's skin. "I'm not. I was just." Jared waits for him to go on, sensing that whatever Jensen is going to say, it's not something he has a right to ask about. "So _lonely_."

The way Jensen says it is devastating. Jared has been lonely before, has been lonely often, has been lonely recently. He knows without having to ask Jensen to expand that what loneliness is to him, to most people, is nothing in the same universe as what Jensen is trying to convey.

It hits Jared then, just how bad things had really been for Jensen. He'd known in a removed way, but hadn't thought about it, not really. Eight years, completely alone. Not even an unkind word from another person or a graze of fingertips. No wonder he can't stop touching Jared. No wonder he trembles and whimpers when Jared is out of sight.

There isn't a word strong enough to express it, but the way Jensen says it— _lonely_ —like it's poison in his mouth. It makes Jared understand, as much as someone can understand something they've never experienced. He squeezes Jensen's shoulder, drawing his arms even tighter around him. When he feels wet tears on his chest, Jared pretends to be asleep, allowing Jensen the dignity of not having to share that with Jared, since his pride is evidently wounded by his own need for proximity.

Jensen is sleeping peacefully by the time Jared wakes up the next morning, and he counts that as a win.

_______________________________________________________________

Jensen proves himself a capable enough sailor the next day. He can lift and climb and move with as much dexterity as the rest of the crew. It makes enough sense—Jensen has been sustaining himself alone on an island for a long, long time. He's probably had to climb and build and defend himself against things far worse than what’s on deck.

He's strong despite his starved frame, but Jared can't stop watching his leg. He walks with a slight limp, something Jared didn't have a chance to notice the previous day, when Jensen was pressed so close to his side that he himself was serving as a crutch without realizing it.

When they retire to their cabin after dinner, Jared sits next to Jensen and angles his head down at the bad leg. "Let me see it."

Jensen looks confused until Jared reaches out, slowly rolling up the bottom of his pants leg. Then Jensen huffs a laugh and when Jared looks up to see his expression, it's openly fond. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a doctor," he answers, because 'I spent every moment of the day watching you' seems like it might be coming on too strong. Then again, Jensen started cuddling him about five seconds after they met, so he shouldn't be one to get fussy over it.

"It's not important," Jensen insists. "I can still use it. Just hurts a little."

"What happened to it?"

"Fell out of a tree," Jensen answers, shaking his head at himself. "Hadn't eaten anything but fish and coconuts for, well, who knows. A week. A month. There was this bird. She'd made her nest up in a branch, too high for me. She was so smug about it, too. She would just sit up there and sing merrily. I was trying to get an egg, and…"

Jared laughs. "You risked your life because a bird was singing at you?"

"She was rubbing it in," he insists, though his cheeks are turning red.

"I'm pretty sure that's just what birds do, Jensen."

"Yeah, well, I didn't like the way she was looking at me." Jared laughs and that makes Jensen laugh, too. He has a musical laugh, one that makes his head fall back and his chest heave. Jared needs to stop paying such close attention.

"You sure showed her," Jared replies, giving Jensen an unimpressed look. "How bad was it? Maybe it wasn't a break, but whatever you did afterward screwed up the healing process."

Jared shakes his head. "I don't know that there's much I can do to help. I can make the pain less, but. If I'd been there when it happened I could have—"

"I don't care about a cramp in my leg, Jared."

Jared looks up, and Jensen's watching him again with that expression, like he hung the goddamn moon. It's been so long since anyone was kind to Jared, and the way Jensen looks at him is addicting.

"Your language skills are getting better," he observes.

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Did I sign up for a check-up?"

"Well, they are."

"I'm using them a lot more, aren't I?" Jensen smiles, but it turns sour almost immediately. "You know, it wasn't just the birds. There was a pile of rocks outside my cave, they almost looked like people sitting down. I named them. I would talk to them. They were my friends." Jensen looks away, ashamed. "I almost miss them. There's a lot wrong with me, and my leg is the least of it."

Jared takes Jensen's calf in his hand and starts to massage it, working through the swollen muscles. "The leg is the only thing I can do anything about."

"No, you're wrong," Jensen says. "You've helped the rest of it more than I thought anyone could. I just don't know what I'm going to do when you—"

"When I what?" Jared asks, looking up while he continues working his fingers on Jensen's leg.

Jensen licks his lips and cuts his glance away from Jared's. "Hey, what are you even doing on this ship, anyway?" He laughs, and it sounds as forced as the subject change, but Jared's not going to argue with him, not yet. Once Jensen's used to being with people again, once he's a little more stable, then maybe Jared can start driving him away, the way he did to everyone he cared about in London.

"What, you mean I don't strike you as a natural part of the surroundings?"

"You're terrified of these people," Jensen says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the door and the rest of the ship.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah, man." Jensen smiles warmly. "You run and hide if anyone so much as looks at you, and you don't strike me as that kind of person." His smile widens. "Only time I've seen you stand up to one of them was when you were trying to convince the Captain to let me come aboard."

"I was living in London," Jared says. "Things were great. And then they weren't. I had to get out, fast. Figured home was as good a place to start over as any."

"What happened?"

"I fell in love."

Jensen responds to that with a laugh that sounds more like a quack than anything. "Say no more."

"How about you?" Jared asks. "Were you a, uh—what's the fancy word they use to describe themselves? A privateer?"

"Nah," Jensen says on a breath. He lowers his voice. "Between you and me, I wasn't even a sailor. My sister married a Frenchman. My parents weren't well enough to undertake the voyage and my big brother had to stay home and attend to our business. I crossed the sea so she would have a familiar face at her wedding and got stranded on my way home."

"Fuck, that's awful." Jared feels a frown tug at his lips. "But you told the Captain—"

"I lied," he admits with a shrug. "I needed her to think I could be useful. I would have said anything to get off that island, Jared. But I'm telling you the truth, because you deserve the truth."

Jared bows his head, hoping to hide his blush, but keeps his eyes on Jensen's. "You make a pretty convincing sailor!"

Jensen's face lights up with mischief. "Ah, back when I was someone, I was quite the _actuer_." He flourishes his hand and puts on an accent as he says the last word. "My uncle was a merchant. When I was a child I used to watch the crews on his ships, so I figured if I just pretended to know what I was doing, it would be enough. Plus, I got pretty good at improvising while I was stuck on that god-forsaken spit of land."

"These people are lunatics," Jared hisses. "They'd have killed you if you hadn't passed."

"I guess I'm lucky I passed then," Jensen says. He reaches for Jared's hands, takes them off his leg and holds them. "You won't tell on me."

"No," Jared promises. "I would never."

Jensen reaches out, brushing a loose hair out of Jared's face and smiles. "That's enough for me."

_______________________________________________________________

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Genevieve says, swaying dramatically on the bench she's straddling and brandishing a finger in Jensen's face. "You mean to tell me you've been drinking my grog and sleeping on my ship for like a week and you never told me you knew _Danneel fucking Harris_?"

"That's not actually her middle name, but yeah, I knew her. We were engaged, for a while."

"Engaged?" Genevieve asks, like Jensen just punched her baby in the face. Jared feels a little like Jensen just punched _him_ in the face, but he manages to school his features and act as if he's completely unbothered by the thought of Jensen having a fiancé. " _Engaged to Danneel fucking Harris_?"

"Only for a while," Jensen tells her, smirking at the Captain's narrowed eyes as he takes a draught from his beer.

Genevieve slams her empty mug on the table. "How do you fuck up being engaged to Danneel fucking Harris?"

"We weren't really each other's type," Jensen says, scratching the back of his neck.

Apparently, this is the stupidest thing Genevieve has ever heard in her life. "Not your type? Not your—I mean, that's fine and all on her end, but how do you decide Danneel fucking Harris just isn't your fucking type?"

Jensen opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. He glances at Jared from the side of his eye, and Jared is a little bit drunk and a lotta bit having trouble focusing on the conversation instead of the way Jensen's leg is pressed to the side of his, Jensen's hand so high on his thigh…

Whoops. Jensen is now looking at him with a questioning eyebrow and Jared hasn’t stopped staring at him long enough to even blink. He realizes he should maybe at least pretend he's following the conversation.

"I'm sorry," Jared says. "Should I know who Danneel Harris is?"

"Danneel fucking Harris," Genevieve insists.

"Same question," says Jared.

Jensen huffs a laugh into his beer.

"She is one of God's own angels," Genevieve says, a look of pure devotion on her face.

"You don’t believe in God," Jeff cuts in to say.

Genevieve's starry-eyed look turns into a pout and she says, "Well, I believe in Danneel Harris."

"Danneel _fucking_ Harris," Jared corrects.

Jeff and Jensen both snort, but Genevieve gives him a look that reminds him she can kill in about 80 different ways using the spoon in the middle of the table. Jared shrinks back into his seat.

"Thank you, Jared," she deadpans. "She's the lead soprano at the Academy of Music in New York. Quite a big star. And she sings like the fucking sun rising."

"I gotta say, I'm happy to hear Dani's been so successful. She wasn't such a big deal back when I…" Jensen shakes his head, obviously not wanting to go there, and Jared puts a palm on his knee, squeezing it to try to distract him. "Anyway, I'm happy for her."

"I didn't realize pirates liked opera," Jared says while eyeing Genevieve. "Isn't that a little, um, fancy for you?"

"How dare you!" Genevieve cries, bringing a hand up to her chest like she's a very dignified lady whose honor has just been insulted. It would probably be more convincing if she wasn't wearing a beer-soaked white shirt under her vest, or if Jared hadn't watched her beat Ty at an arm wrestling match and then burp in his face just fifteen short minutes ago. "Making assumptions about a person's taste based on their occupation. Honestly, Jared, I'd expect better from you."

"Well, I'm sorry, just…" He gestures at her, and she looks down, then up, pursing her lips like Jared has a valid point.

"I clean up nicely," she informs the table. "Anyway, what's the point of murdering and pillaging for gold if you can't use it to enjoy the finer things in life?" She puts her feet up on the table and grins. "I have seen Ms. Harris in five different productions. Five."

"She'll be happy to meet such a fan," Jensen says. "Especially one that looks like you."

Genevieve nearly falls off the bench. "You'll introduce us? You'll introduce me to _Danneel fucking Harris_?"

"Well, you did save my life, so, I guess you could call in a favor."

"And to think I almost shivved you and left your corpse on that island," Genevieve says kindly.

"Yeah," Jensen responds, finishing his ale. "Thanks for not doing that, by the way."

_______________________________________________________________

The last few weeks of the crossing pass much more quickly than the first half had gone. With Jensen at his side, the ocean doesn't seem so scary. He shakes Jared awake before the rest of the crew some mornings, drags him above deck to watch the sun rise, or to see the grampuses swimming by the ship's side, because the beasts delight instead of terrify him.

Everything that isn't that island must feel fresh and new to him, and Jared can feel himself sinking deeper every time he watches Jensen's eyes light up as he points to some wonder or another.

That's the irony of the whole thing. Now that Jared never wants the voyage to end, their arrival date draws nearer faster than the winds inside a hurricane. Jared can't imagine what will replace the feeling of worth being near Jensen gives him when Jensen returns home, finds his family and friends, and reunites with all the people he'd lost for so long.

Today, Jared awakes before Jensen. He opens his eyes to a now familiar sight, the top of Jensen's head. He turns his face and buries it in Jensen's short hairs, inhaling the scent. Jensen used to smell like earth and sand and desperate living, but he smells different now. His scent is tangled up with Jared's—just as Jared's is with his. They stay too close to avoid that, and maybe it should disturb Jared, but it's just one more thing he cherishes, one more thing he's afraid he'll never get to enjoy again in just a few short days.

Jared's body is wrapped around Jensen's from behind today, Jensen fitting perfectly into the nook that Jared's made for him. He reaches out, brushing the backs of his fingers against Jensen's gold-dusted cheek. When Jensen smacks his lips, turning his face toward Jared even in sleep, Jared's entire body aches, like a disease spreading from his heart and overtaking him too quickly to fight.

Jensen shifts in his arms, his body pressing impossibly closer, ass digging into Jared's groin and, well, fuck. There it is. Another familiar morning occurrence these days, unfortunately. Jared's dick is hard as a rock, because Jensen's heat, his body molded to Jared's—it's a little more temptation than he can stand.

He wiggles his arm, trying to get loose before Jensen wakes up and feels Jared pressing against his back. His face is burning with shame, because this, this isn't Jensen's fault. Jensen doesn't want this, told Jared in so many words that he would hate the contact they share if not for what he'd gone through. What Jensen needs is someone to take care of him, to understand what he went through. Not someone who wants him, whose body gets flushed and takes advantage of being so close. Not someone like Jared.

"Jared?" Jensen's voice is sleepy, confused. Jared figures, fuck it, it's too late to avoid waking him up, so he pulls his arm out from under Jensen and starts to get out of bed. "Where're you going?"

"Out, up, above deck." Jared shakes his head. "I need to get some air."

Jensen sits up and reaches for the shirt he left on the floor between their beds, pulling it on above his head. He sleeps in nothing but his breeches, so Jared's touching as much of his skin as possible, and somehow that manages to be torture just as much as watching him dress in the morning is. Jared feels torn apart by Jensen, in pain when he's looking, but even more so when he isn't. He can't get away. He doesn't really want to.

"Well, hold on, I'll come with you—"

"No," Jared snaps. "I don't—I don't want you near me. Don't you get tired of this? Ever?"

Jensen's expression dims, and Jared wants to hurt himself for causing it. But he stands his ground.

"You know I don't," Jensen answers, his voice strained. He turns his face abruptly to stare at Jared's empty space in the bed. "You know why I don’t."

And that—that's what makes this hurt so much. Jared wants to be close to Jensen every moment, but for Jensen, Jared could be anyone. He just needs someone. It's constant and it's not improving—every other side effect of Jensen's years on the island are showing steady signs of progress. He's speaking comfortably, engaging with the others. The pain in his leg won't go away, but Jensen is learning to manage it better, how not to put weight on the injury and stress it out.

The only thing that persists is this thing with Jared, this constant need to touch. Jared can't fix it for him, however much Jensen wants to be free of it, and a part of him is terrified it's because he doesn't want to. Deep down he really is that selfish, and he's making Jensen dependent on him because no one, certainly no one as special as Jensen, will ever want him close to them otherwise.

"Well, in just a few days you'll have your family to get close to and you won't need me anymore. I'm sure you're looking forward to that."

Jensen lifts his head, looking angry for the first time since Jared met him. "Are you?"

"I don't know," Jared admits. "I need five minutes away from you. Just give me five fucking minutes."

He storms out, not wanting to see the look on Jensen's face, and feels like he's hyperventilating by the time he's above deck. Jared has a drive to put as much space between himself and Jensen as possible, even as every step feels like he's pulling an invisible string too far.

_______________________________________________________________

Jensen finds him half an hour later sitting in the crow's nest, staring out at the absolute blankness that goes on as far as the eye can see in every direction. Jared has been up here swaying in the clouds since he left their cabin, and he's found the lack of distractions surprisingly calming.

Maybe all that crap the poets wrote about the ocean wasn't complete crap after all, but Jared will never admit it out loud.

Jensen climbs up on the opposite side of where Jared is sitting, and Jared doesn't bother asking how he found him. They’ve gotten to know each other quite intimately in the last few weeks, and if Jensen knows how to think like Jared, even when Jared's in the middle of a fit, that's not very surprising.

He doesn't say anything for a while, just sits near Jared—not touching him, not near enough to touch—and stares out in the same direction.

Eventually he says, "Well, I gave you five minutes. That was hard for me, I deserve a lot of credit."

Jared laughs, turning to his friend. Jensen doesn't look angry or resentful of Jared like Jared probably deserves. He looks nervous. Like he doubts his place here, and Jared doesn't know how to fix that without ruining whatever comfort he's given Jensen.

"I'm terrified to get back," Jensen says. Jared tilts his head, about to ask, but Jensen goes on, "When I was on that island, all I could think about was the people I left behind. What they were doing, if they missed me. I thought about that all the time, but it was about me, you know? Did they think I was dead? Were they mourning? I never thought I'd get off. So they were always, you know. The same. It was me that was different. Now? Now I'm going home and I don't know if there's still a home to go to. I don't know if they’re all dead. Part of me wants to stay in purgatory forever. On this ship not knowing any real answers."

"I never thought of that," Jared admits.

Jensen bites his lip. "But you know what scares me even more?"

"What?"

"What you just said to me down there," Jensen says. He chokes on his words for a few seconds, but Jared pretends not to notice. "The thought that you're going to put a continent between us as soon as I don't have you trapped on this stupid boat. Having to face that you were lying all those times you told me I wasn't bothering you."

"You'll have plenty of people to fill in for me, Jensen," Jared reminds him. "A whole country full of people who will be happy to have you touching them."

"And that's what you think this is?" Jensen asks. "Me looking for just anybody to fill in?"

Jared shrugs. "I was the first person to find you. I was the first person you could touch, so I'm the one you—"

"You think just anyone would have given me their blanket in the middle of a storm? You think anyone else on this ship would have let me get away with grabbing them, would have advocated for a complete stranger to a group of people they're scared of? You think they would have sat up with me that first night, talking and talking so I could remember how to speak my own damn language? Do you see me going around rubbing my face on every poor bastard on this ship? It's just you, Jared. It's just you for a reason. And I'm sorry—I'm so sorry if you hate it, if you've hated it this whole time. I wish to God you'd stopped me if that's the case. But it's not going to be any different when we get to Boston. I don't feel alive when I'm not touching you."

"I'm a freak, Jensen."

Jensen stops as if Jared's comment came out of nowhere, confusion written all over his face. "What?"

"I'm a freak. And if you knew—if you knew who I really was, you would hate me. You wouldn't ever let me touch you again. And…I don't know. All I know is I'd rather drown than have you hate me the way everyone else I've ever loved hates me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I fell in love with my best friend," Jared says. "I was happy and successful. I had a mentor who taught me everything he knew about medicine, who supported me. He helped me set up my own practice. Everything was perfect. And I had a friend I loved more than I'd loved anything up until then.

"For two years, everything was perfect and I was in love but I didn't do anything, I kept waiting for it to happen. It didn't happen. So finally I took the plunge. I kissed him. I kissed _him_ , Jensen. And he didn't love me back. He hated me for it. He hit me, his friends hit me. He told everyone. My mentor couldn't look at me, my patients stopped coming. I lost everything. They ran me out, and they were right to, because I was sick then and I'm sick now. The only damn ship that would take me on was full of goddamn pirates, and I thought it was a curse.

"Then we found you. We found you and you…you wanted me near you. You're beautiful and you're funny and I didn't make you sick because you didn't know, but you should. You deserve to know. I love having you close. I _love_ that you want to touch me. But it's all wrong. It's for the wrong reasons, Jensen. I'm so fucking sick. You just needed someone to comfort you. I didn't know how to push you away. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Jensen moves closer and places his hands on Jared's chest. For a moment, Jared wonders if maybe Jensen's about to push him off the mast. He tugs Jared forward instead, until their lips crash together, and Jared doesn't realize there are tears on his cheeks until Jensen pulls away, presses his lips to them. "Jared, look at me."

Jared does, and Jensen is watching him with fond indulgence. "What part of me waking you up with my ass rubbing against your dick every morning made you think I would have a problem with you?"

"But you—"

"Shh," Jensen says, pulling Jared down so he can kiss his forehead. Then he places a finger under Jared's chin, makes him lift his head until their eyes are locked. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what you'd gone through. It wasn't ever like that for me—I mean, Danneel and I had our big fake engagement so we could fool a few newspapers into thinking we weren't both more interested in our own sex, but my family knew, my friends all knew, no one cared. If I'd known what it was like for you, I wouldn't have put you through this. I would have told you how I felt. But I was already asking for so much. I thought you knew I wanted you. I couldn't ask for that too."

"Jensen," Jared whispers. "I love you. I don't want you to find someone else to touch, or to depend on me less. I don't want to lose you when we get to the harbor. I want to stay with you until we get to Texas. I want to stay with you even longer than that."

Jensen takes his hand. "Just promise you won't push me away again, Jared."

"Oh god," Jared says, cupping Jensen's face with his free hand and moving in slowly for a kiss. "I promise, I promise."

_______________________________________________________________

They're back in their cabin before long, shirts thrown onto the pile on the floor they'd only recently been pulled from. Jared lets his hands span Jensen's hips, which are filling out more and more every day but are still too thin. Thin enough that Jared's big hands dwarf him. Jensen's hands are busy, too, untying the top of Jared's pants, shoving them down and pulling him close.

This time, Jared doesn't try to hide the bulge of his hard cock. Instead he grins as Jensen takes it in hand. His voice is low and husky and unbelievably sexy as he puts his lips to Jared's ear. "You're so big, Jared. Love that about you. There's so much of you to touch."

Jared's hands slip down, until his fingers are dipping below the line of Jensen's pants, and he can tell that Jensen is hard already.

"What do you want me to touch?" Jared asks, cupping his palm around the bulge at Jensen's crotch.

Jensen goes still immediately, his face turns a bright red, and Jared feels wetness soaking through the fabric of his pants.

"Oh my god," Jensen says in horror, looking down. "Fuck, I couldn't—"

"Did you just come from my hand on your dick _over your clothes_?" Jared asks.

"It's been such a long time since anyone—" Jensen cuts himself off, hiding his face in his hands. "I ruined it. I ruined it, didn't I?" He looks up at Jared. "Did I ruin it?"

Jared shakes his head. "That was seriously hot, Jensen. Love what my touch does to you."

"R—really?"

"Yeah." Jared kisses him, their mouths opening slowly, his tongue playing with Jensen's before he starts to kiss deeper. "Do you think you can get hard again?"

Jensen's eyes dodge down to Jared's dick and his eyes darken. "Oh yeah."

"Can I fuck you?"

Jensen responds by pulling his pants down, shucking the sticky fabric into a corner to deal with later. He crawls onto the bed on all fours and waits there for Jared, completely on display.

Jared has never been offered anything so perfect.

He climbs onto the mattress behind Jensen, hands fumbling on the nightstand for the oil he uses to light his lamp. There isn't much left in the bottle, and he has a feeling they'll be using what’s left of it for this. Oh well, he thinks as he uncorks the bottle and pours some onto his hands. The journey is almost over and there's plenty they can do in the dark, anyway.

"Gonne start with a finger," he tells Jensen, resting one hand on the small of Jensen's back, knowing his touch will relax Jensen more than anything.

"Yeah," Jensen says, sounding so desperate, even though his dick is still soft. Jared can hear how much he wants this. "Love your hands. Want them to touch me everywhere. Want you everywhere, Jared."

Jared groans, pressing his index finger in past the rim of muscle. Jensen's tight, which isn't surprising. No one's been here in—who knows how long. Eight years at least. What is surprising is that despite that, Jensen gives way easily, relaxing and welcoming Jared in. Jared is knuckle deep without much effort, moving his finger around experimentally to see what Jensen responds to.

He avoids Jensen's sweet spot until he adds a second finger, and then he crooks them, feeling Jensen's entire body rock in response.

"That good?" Jared asks.

"See for yourself," Jensen responds. He lifts his hips, pushing his ass farther up and Jared reaches around him with his other hand.

He thinks _he_ might accidentally come, because Jensen is already starting to fill up again.

"Wow," is all he can think of to say. Jensen laughs at him, burying his face in his pillow.

"Can I—?"

"Get on with it?" Jensen asks, his words muffled. He lifts his head and tries to look over his shoulder as much as possible. "I really wish you would."

Jared sits back, and Jensen turns around, spreading his legs so that Jared has plenty of room between them.

"You want to do it like this?" Jared asks.

"I want to touch you. Want to be the one to slick your cock up for me." He takes Jared's slippery hand and rubs the oil off on his own, then reaches down, stroking Jared's length until he's wet and there's just the right amount of friction. Jared has to reach down, squeeze his base and swat Jensen's hands away, because he desperately wants to fuck Jensen and his recovery time won't be anywhere near as fast as Jensen's was.

Jensen lies back then, smiles wantonly when Jared takes his legs and drapes one over each of his shoulders. Jared lines his dick up with Jensen's hole and keeps his eyes on Jensen's as he pushes in.

The cry Jensen lets out as Jared sinks in is enough to let everyone on board know what they're doing, but Jared doesn't care. He's been ashamed of this for so long that he'd forgotten how good it is to fuck without feeling guilty, and no one he's been with has ever felt this good.

Because it's Jensen. And he's tight, obliging, every sound he makes drives Jared wild. But it's more than that. Jared looks down and doesn't just see how beautiful Jensen is. He's looking into the eye of the hurricane, the only safe haven in the storm. Jensen saved his goddamn life.

"Jared?" Jensen says, his hands stroking Jared's face, bringing him back into the moment. "Jared, touch me."

Jared moves down to bite Jensen's plump bottom lip as he starts to fuck Jensen in earnest, because he understands what his boy is asking for. He understands.

He pulls back, taking Jensen's cock in one hand and starting a slow motion, stroking him so that Jensen has a chance to memorize the feel, his thrusts just as calculated. He wants Jensen to remember every inch of him; he wants to leave finger prints on Jensen's cock. He wants Jensen to feel him inside, even when they’re not touching.

"Open your mouth," Jared commands, and Jensen obeys easily. Jared traces his bottom lip with his thumb, then pushes it in past his lips, and Jensen sucks at him, takes him there just as good as his ass is taking it, just as eager as the hitches of his hips as he slides his cock in Jared's palm.

They fit together like a puzzle, have had so much time to learn each other. Jared didn't know it at the time, but every little touch between them was leading to this. He's never had such intimate sex, not even with partners he'd fucked for years. It was never this familiar.

Jensen moans and Jared feels himself slipping, wishing to God he could hold onto this feeling forever. "Fuck, Jensen, I love you so much," he says, and Jensen bucks under him, his ass tightening around Jared's cock like a sweet, naughty little gift.

Jared grunts, hardly has the time to warn Jensen before he starts to spill. His hand on Jensen's cock stays steady though, and as he rides out his orgasm, he's so connected that he can tell where Jensen is, how much longer he’ll last, how good he feels. Jared's pumping out the last of his seed, his cock starting to soften, when Jensen's dick finally starts to drool out more than precome into his clenched fist. Jared uses the first spurts of come to ease his way and speeds up, making Jensen's orgasm pick up in intensity.

He takes his hand out of Jensen's mouth so he can hear what Jensen has to say as he throws his head back, long pretty throat on display like that first time Jared had shaved him. He pants out "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" with the last a scream so intense Jared has to cover Jensen's mouth with his own, laughing into Jensen's drawn out obscenity.

They both collapse when Jared pulls out, Jensen's legs dropping to the mattress and Jared rolling onto his back. He's breathing so loud he can hardly hear Jensen next to him, until Jensen turns, plastering his cheek to Jared's sweaty chest.

"I guess you aren't tired of me touching you yet?" Jared asks, pulling Jensen in as Jensen makes himself comfortable. They've slept tangled up like that a thousand times, but something about the way their bodies are sticking together now feels a little like the universe is poking fun at them.

"Mmm," Jensen replies. A man of few words, his Jensen.

"It's the middle of the day," he reminds Jensen, but a yawn creeps up on him as he's saying it.

Jensen cracks one eye open and looks up at Jared without removing his face from its smushed position. "You wore me out."

"Maybe a short nap and then round two," Jared says, idly playing with the short hairs on the back of Jensen's neck.

"Round three for me," Jensen says. "I think I finally know how that smug bird felt."

"Just don't go falling out of anymore trees," Jared tells him, trying to sound stern, mostly sounding sated.

"Doesn't matter if I do," Jensen says, pressing a kiss right over Jared's heart. "You'll catch me."

**The End.**


End file.
